Five-Thirty AM - XVIII

Mitul got out of the car and took in the familiar sights, sounds and smells of Mumbai, reveling in the comfort feel of it all. Much as she loved being in Toronto, it was good to be back here. She breathed in deeply and waited while Roshan, their manservant ran to get her bags out of the car.

‘Welcome back, beta,’ said Mr. Imani, hugging his daughter to his side.

‘Thanks, Baba,’ she replied smiling back at him. The familiar, loving faces of her father and her uncle had greeted her at the airport. She was glad to be home. She walked in through the doors of their two-story house and was immediately greeted by a long hug from her mother. Her aunt was standing waiting to greet her, as well as her cousin, Maina, smiles wreathing their faces.

Greetings over, she went up to her room, showered and changed, and came back ready for lunch. She was looking forward to her mother’s and her chachi’s cooking after what seemed a very long time. All said and done, the two Imani daughters-in-law were both excellent cooks!

It was a long meal, the kind that families have when someone returns to the fold, after a long time away. Her favorite dishes had been prepared. Her mother and her aunt made sure she ate properly. Her father made sure she was comfortable. Maina made sure that she didn’t have to get up to fetch even a glass of water. Her uncle made sure the air-conditioner was cool enough for her. In short, Mitul felt pampered and loved. To a heart that was bruising and hurting, this over the top care and concern, was a soothing balm.

Lunch over, she pleaded tiredness and went up to her room to rest. Taking out her phone, she noted down the phone numbers she would need, and changed the SIM card to an Indian one. Finally feeling the effects of the long journey, she fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was already dark. She had a quick wash and went downstairs to find everyone sitting at the dining table having tea. The dining table was the place where the Imani family gathered for socializing. They didn’t use the living room much. That was for guests for the most part. The dining table was where the family bonded.

Pulling out a chair, she joined them, as Roshan poured her a cup of tea, curling up her feet under her.

‘How are you feeling, beta?’ her father asked, lovingly stroking her hair.

‘Much better, Baba. That nap really helped, only thing is, I hope I can sleep tonight,’ she laughed.

‘Mitul di, I wanted to come out to Canada with you this year, you know. But Dad didn’t let me go!’ Maina pouted.

‘You’re not getting any trips abroad this year, you know that,’ her father said a little sternly. ‘She’s been sitting at home with a degree in fashion. We spent money on that, and now she doesn’t want to work!’

‘Not true, Dad,’ Maina protested. ‘I want to join a large fashion house, as a designer, and for that I need to go to either the US or Italy.’ She looked at Mitul. ‘Or at least to Canada,’ she added for effect.

Mitul smiled, humorlessly. Her cousin was really naive sometimes. Did she really think that she would get a job with a large fashion house without any experience? She had to start somewhere, and the sooner she started, the better it would be for her.

‘So, Mitul,’ her aunt turned to her. ‘Didi,’ i.e. Mitul’s mother, ‘tells me you’re working on a biography of some film actor? Who is it? Didi wouldn’t tell me his name.’

She swallowed. Images of that film actor crawled across her vision in slow motion, bare chested, in jeans, kissing her first thing in the morning, the colors of the phoenix glowing on his chest. She swallowed, took a sip of tea and said, ‘I can’t talk about it yet, Chachi. I have a confidentiality agreement with them. Not allowed to talk about it,’ she repeated.

‘Oh, come on,’ said her chachi. ‘Surely you can tell your family?’

‘No, chachi, I can’t,’ mentally blessing her Ma for not revealing the details. She wasn’t aware just how much of the details her mother already knew!

She could trust her mother, not her aunt, who loved to bask in the reflected light of someone else’s glory.

She was a vicarious woman, her chachi. Mitul’s association with Noel would only serve to improve her standing in her circle of equally vacuous friends. And Mitul was far from giving her that satisfaction. Unfortunately for Maina, her mother’s vapid values had rubbed off on her as well.

Mitul made a mental note to change the entry in her phone for Noel’s number.

‘You see, when we start writing these things, we have to make sure that we protect them and their confidentiality, too. If that trust is not there, then it doesn’t work,’ she elaborated, more for the benefit of making it sound much more important than it really was. After all, the Puris had not only met Noel, they’d spent almost a week with him!

‘Wow!’ said her cousin, eyes opened wide. ‘So, do you, like, sign a confidentiality agreement or what?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘Actually, we do, Maina,’ she spoke like a teacher to a child. ‘There are some things that will never go into print,’ she added for good measure.

Like being held close in his arms, sitting on his lap, feeling him hard and aroused under her ... she stopped herself at those mental images, squirming a bit in her chair, aroused at the thought of those stolen moments.

Her mother had been watching her. She knew her daughter well enough to understand that Mitul was thinking of Noel. She was glad she’d never mentioned his name to her relatives. They didn’t need to know about all this. She’d find out sooner or later what was going on with Noel.

‘So, Chachu,’ Mitul turned to her uncle. ‘What brings you to Mumbai this time?’

‘Just like that, beta,’ her uncle said. ‘We knew you were coming back from Canada, so we thought we’d join the welcome committee,’ he smiled at her. ‘Which reminds me, did you get me the CD’s I asked you for?’

‘Chachu, I did better than that! I compiled some CDs for you, and I’m sure you’re going to love them. All the latest hits!’ she replied. Her uncle had a strange propensity for country music and she’d collected all the latest ones into albums for him.

‘Great! I can’t wait to hear them,’ he grinned.

*****

That night, she came out of the bathroom to find her cousin seated on her bed, going through her phone. Or at least trying to. Mitul was glad she had it password protected!

‘What are you doing with my phone, Maina?’ she asked, suspiciously.

‘Oh!’ her cousin was startled, dropping the phone on the bed. ‘I was just ... just ... Looking to see what your new phone was like,’ she stammered.

‘It’s not new,’ said Mitul, glaring at her, snatching it away from her. ‘I’ve had it for the last two years, and you’ve seen it before.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘So. What exactly were you doing with my phone?’

‘Nothing, Mitul di,’ she whined.

‘Well, then, next time. Do. Not. Touch. My. Phone.’ Mitul enunciated clearly, breathing heavily in anger. ‘It’s out of bounds. Is that clear? My things - my phone, my laptop, my clothes, in fact, any and everything in this room is out of bounds. For you. Am I clear?’ she yelled.

‘You don’t have to yell at me,’ said Maina, her voice rising, too. ‘I heard you the first time.’

‘No. You never do,’ Mitul was still yelling. ‘I haven’t forgotten what a sneaky little thing you are, Maina Imani.’

‘That was just the one time!’

‘Really? You tried to get my Italian pen-pal’s address by going through my address book! Don’t think I’ve forgotten!’ exclaimed Mitul, referring to something that happened from their high-school days.

‘Well, yeah. And besides, why couldn’t you share?’ Maina said.

‘Why should I?’ Mitul was furious. Her sister had always wanted what she had, and this incident had been the icing on the cake. Since then, she’d never trusted Maina.

‘Why not? Why are you so protective of your things anyway? It’s not like you’re hiding a big state secret!’ Mitul sneered.

Mitul breathed heavily through her nose, calming herself down, pausing to time her strike. She searched her cousin’s face and then said, ‘it is! For you. You’re not going to learn it. Now. Get out of my room!’ she pointed to the door.

‘Mitul!’ her mother’s shocked voice came from the door. ‘That’s no way to speak to your sister.’

‘Some sister,’ Mitul sneered. ‘She was trying to break into my phone. To find who I’m working with.’ She looked over at her cousin, who for the first time had the grace to look ashamed.

‘Is that true, Maina?’ Mitul’s mother frowned and looked at her.

Maina stared at the floor. ‘It was just ... I don’t see why it’s such a big thing, Badi Ma. What harm could it do?’ big tears floated in her eyes.

Mitul stayed silent and let her mother handle it, hands folded across her chest, glaring at the sheer stupidity that was her sister.

‘Big thing or not, you don’t touch other’s things without their permission, Maina,’ Mitul’s mother said sternly. ‘We respect Mitul’s privacy, and her phone is a very private thing. So I want you to respect her privacy, too. Understood?’

Maina nodded, silently.

‘Now apologize to her, and leave.’

‘I’m sorry, Mitul di,’ she muttered, glancing furiously at her cousin, before stalking out of the room.

‘Whatever!’ Mitul muttered at her retreating back.

Her mother turned and shut the door, latching it, before turning to look at her daughter, who was standing there breathing angrily.

She took her arm and gently led her to the comfortable four-poster bed and made her sit. She sat down beside her, and hugged her. Mitul hid her face on her mother’s bosom, finding the solace there that she’d always found as a child, a teenager and a grown up.

‘Sorry, Ma,’ she said, sitting up after a while. ‘But she really pushes all the wrong buttons!’

‘I know,’ said her mother comfortingly. She sighed. ‘She’s not a bad girl,’ she echoed what she’d said to her sister a few weeks ago. ‘She just hasn’t been given the right values.’ She stayed silent for a while and then said, ‘I always felt she was jealous of you.’

‘Jealous? of ME?’ Mitul laughed incredulously. ‘Why would she be jealous of me? She’s the pretty one. The boys always fell over themselves when they see her. She was always popular. She never had to do anything for herself. Her father’s well-off. So why?’

Her mother studied her for a long moment and then said wonderingly, ‘have you ever wondered how hard it must have been for her to grow up constantly compared to an older sister who did everything right? You topped your classes. You graduated from a great university with a scholarship. You became a published author at twenty. You got your dream job. You’re independent financially. You travel abroad and support yourself. You’re smart. You’re confident. You don’t let others dictate what you should do. People gravitate towards you because of who you are. That’s kind of hard to live up to!’

Mitul frowned, never having seen herself quite like that.

‘And now, you’re working with a celebrity. Whereas she, she’s still finding her way in the world. She’s still trying to find herself. She’s not confident, because deep inside she knows that it’s only because of her looks that people even look at her. Or her father’s money. I know she’s capable of much more. But she is not as confident as she makes out to be. And you remind her of who she wants to be!’

Mitul sat there, chewing over her mother’s words. She’d never, ever thought of things this way. Her mother patted her head, ‘Go to bed, now. We’ll talk later,’ she said, as she let herself out of the door.

‘Thanks, Ma,’ she called.

Her mother smiled at her over her shoulder. The conversation about Noel would have to wait.

Mitul lay back, pulling the covers over herself. Peace at last. Family. She sighed. You can’t do with them. You can’t do without them. The words of her Literature professor rang in her ears, ‘Friends you can choose. Family is thrust upon you.’

****

Quiet descended on the Imani household as the lights turned off one by one in all the rooms. The only glow came from Mitul’s room. She sat up in bed, not in the least bit sleepy. Pulling out her laptop, she settled herself comfortably in the bed and opened it up. Clicking on the Pictures folder, she opened another folder under it marked Personal. Pictures of Noel. Pictures of her and Noel. Pictures of her. She looked through them slowly, remembering each and every instance when those pictures had been taken, and some when she wasn’t aware of being snapped. She smiled and then sobered up quickly.

She was back in India.

He was out there somewhere, in the vicinity, in the same city, lying on a bed, probably fast asleep

She was wrong.

****

He was in the same city. He was lying on a bed. But he wasn’t fast asleep. He was wide awake. He knew she was back. He’d counted the days till Sunday. Now that she was back, he’d waited all day to hear from her. But she hadn’t called. In fact, she’d never called since that last drunk call.

He was back to work now, and at the end of each day, he’d waited eagerly to hear from her. Everyday. But there had been nothing. No emails. No calls. No texts. No nothing. Hope is a hard thing to keep alive without something to feed it. He was slowly realizing that that call had been a mistake on her part - or at least, that’s what she probably thought.

But...

If it was a mistake, it told him one thing. She’d missed him. As much as he’d been missing her. So he would hold on to hope. For just a little while longer. They still had to meet, and then he’d see.

He got up and dialed her number, waiting as it rang at her end. Finally, the recording came on. ‘This number is out of service. Please check the number you have dialed.’

He sat there looking at the phone. He didn’t have her number. This was her Canadian number. Obviously, she must have an Indian number, too. But he didn’t have it! For a moment panic gripped him, before rationale took over. Joyce. She would surely know her Indian number.

First thing tomorrow, call Joyce and find out, he thought, stilling his racing heartbeat.

He lay back down. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, he thought, before falling asleep. Peacefully.

*****

Dev was lying in bed, his hands under his head, thinking about Ms. Chanel No.5, as he’d started calling her. Where are you? Who are you?

He smiled in the dark, thinking about those full, plump lips. She had a dimple, he remembered now, every feature on her face etched vividly in his mind. There was something about her, her arrogance, her indifference, her temper, her petulance.

What was she like when she wasn’t angry? Or snarky? What was she like when she was being kissed senseless? Would she purr? or would she moan?

He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, trying to find a cooler spot for his rapidly heating body.

What was she like in bed? and out of it? The curiosity was killing him.

He grinned in the darkness. He had it just as bad as Noel! At least Noel knew WHO he had it bad for. He, on the other hand, only knew her as Ms. Chanel No.5!

What he didn’t know was that he’d have to continue calling her Ms. Chanel No.5 - just for a little while longer.

*****

Mumbai had woken up to a coolish morning. Overnight it had rained, and clouds flew by in what the weather network calls a variable cloudy day. A fresh breeze blew in from the ocean, moving the smogs and the smells inland. As evening set in, the clouds in the sky, and the grey sea below were washed with gold. Along the Marine drive, the spectacular sunset fingered along each of the buildings, turning them to gold, and each window into a flame.

Which is where Dev was waiting for his date.

Yes, for even if thoughts of Ms. Chanel No.5 invaded his mind now and then, Dev still had a little black book filled with the names of girls that he dated. He needed to unwind. It had been stressful last week, but this week had started well. Hump day was finally over, and he felt he deserved a break. And what better way to have a break than to spend it in the company of a beautiful woman in one of the swankiest lounges in town?

Oh, did you perchance think that he was waiting on Marine Drive itself? Sorry about that.

You see, Dev did not believe is making his women walk around in 3/4/5 inch heels when they could barely stand erect in them. He believed in the luxurious surroundings of a lounge, a glass of beautiful golden single malt in hand, and a beautiful woman on/in his arm/arms. At the end of the night, they would be in his/her bed, which ever was convenient.

True love had yet to bite Dev in his cute and tight little rear.

The evening went much as he’d expected. His date was tall, gorgeous, and could barely hold two thoughts together in her pretty little head. Which was okay with him. All he wanted was for her to think of him. All she knew was that she needed to think of him. Perfect compatibility!

He’d just congratulated himself on being able to keep Ms. Chanel No.5 at bay, when he saw her walk in.

He blinked. She couldn’t be here. Could she? Or was he just conjuring her up?

She was wearing a navy sheath, which stopped just short of her knees and still managed to make her legs look long and gorgeous. Her hair was loose this time, falling in a straight curtain down her back. A chunky necklace in red offset the severity of the dress, reflected in the red of the thin strappy stilettos she wore. She carried the contrast into her lipstick and her purse. That and those sexy glasses.

She was walking in with a couple of other girls, all tall, all lissom, all gorgeous. They turned every male head in the room as they strolled languidly over to the bar, and ordered their drinks. The bar stools were high, and their skirts were short. The girls wriggled onto the stools. The male audience lapped it up.

Soon after, that corner of the bar was a beehive of activity. He turned to his date and focused fully on her. She deserved it. She hadn’t even noticed him staring open-mouthed at her!

‘Dev, darling,’ said his faceless companion. ‘Can I get another drink, please?’

‘Sure, babe’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ll get it.’

He walked over to the bar, his heart beating a random tattoo.

She turned her head right then, and saw him coming straight towards her. Her eyes opened wide as she recognized him.

He could read her expecting him to come up and talk to her. He could see the fire in her eyes, starting to light up. Getting ready for a put-down. 

He held her eyes as he moved forward. He held her eyes as he walked past her, smirking, letting her know he’d recognized her, before he looked away. 

He leant to the bar at her left, his suit clad arm lightly brushing the skin of hers, and signaled the bartender. He ordered his drinks and waited till the glasses were placed in front of him, Chanel no.5 giving him a high, but still not making eye contact with her. He could sense her twisting in her seat, trying not to look at him.

Half-way to his table, he stopped a waiter and said, ‘whatever she’s having,’ indicating her. ‘Put it on my tab.’

‘Sure, sir,’ said the dutiful man.

He walked to his couch, and sat down, putting an arm around his date’s almost naked back. She giggled. He watched as the bartender gave her a drink, and said something to her. She smiled and said something back. The bartender nodded in his direction. She turned and froze. He raised his glass to her in a mock salute, watching as she narrowed those beautiful eyes and turned away. She’d seen the arm he’d had around his date and the way he was rubbing her back.

Suddenly tired of this game, he pushed himself away from the woman at his side. ‘Are you done?’ he asked.

‘Oooh! Dev,’ she simpered. ‘You’re in a hurry tonight.’

‘Yes,’ he snapped, annoyed and irritated at himself.

He held her elbow and as they walked past the stiff back of Ms. Chanel No.5, he heard her companion say, ‘Maina, I’m going to the loo. You wanna come?’

‘No, you go ahead,’ he heard her say. He swallowed hard.

Unlocking his car door, he helped his date in, before getting in himself and driving to her place.

‘You want to come in? for a nightcap?’ she ran her finger down his face.

He held the finger, kissed it and said, ‘can I take a raincheck on that? I’m really tired today.’

She smiled at him. ‘I’m sorry. Of course, you know you have an open tab with me,’ and winked at him. He smiled weakly at that.

He waited till she was inside her door, before smacking his palm against the steering wheel.

Maina.

Beautiful name. Just like her. He frowned. He didn’t know anyone called Maina. So why then did Ms. Maina look so familiar? He wondered for the hundred and eighth time.

The week had just been shot to hell.

*****